The gusto of your hearty amusement matches my own, "Amos". ;-D You say that Chongo is fictional, yet you say that his alleged sister Chinga is not??? You threaten to have her invade his Universe???? How could she be anywhere but in his Universe if she is his (alleged) sister? It's not for me to answer that...I am not the one who concocted her.

Your assessment of Chongo's lifestyle is even more delusory than your assessment of mine!! Amazing. Wait til Chinga finds out how well Chongo is doing in your mythic universe. She'll probably invade it just to teach him a lesson in sharing.

First comes shock. Then denial. Then the hysterical attacks on others. These are recognizable and documented stages in this kind of case.

These "shadow" personas tend to generate strange stories about other fictional personas. The "Amos" persona, for instance, appears to have invested inordinate amounts of time in spinning seamy and bizarre stories about a licentious chimpanzee Madame named Chinga, supposedly the abusive and slatternly sister of a well-known male chimpanzee character who has starred in a series of popular detective stories. The "Amos" persona created the "Chinga" persona in order to attack a character of popular fiction who represents all the things to which Louie Troutfriend himself can never aspire, such as success, fame, courage, nice suits, a car that actually runs, and a walk-up office flat with a framed and signed photo of Primo Carnera on the wall.

Thus does envy drive madness. There are cures, though, for this dire malady....a strict 6-month fast in which one consumes only pure water, fresh Kiwi fruit, and ripe bananas has been shown to ease the more violent symptoms in 72% of respondents. Others, sadly, have not done so well. Some end up swallowing their own feet and finally turning themselves inside out. It's not a pretty sight.

I just backtracked this thing to the point of departure, which was during an episode of extremely low temps. I think I get it now.

Cold weather reduces circulation, induces seasonal affect disorder, and slows down the cycle-time of the brain in those so affected below the rate needed to stay in touch with present time as it evolves moment to moment.

In response, the brain erects defenses of temporary insanity--constructs of false reality that do not need updating, sincve they are not anchored in real-time, and which serve to fend off confusion and dismay until warm weather comes back and enables the brain to catch up with the real world.

I am very pleased with this hypothesis, as I think it explains everything.

This is remarkable--two narcissists sharing a joint illusion. Infection by viral meme? Twin souls split from an earlier lifetime? Some kind of cataclysmic karmic collision of psyches? The mind boggles. The key question is, is it pathological and is it infectious? Should Mom allow it in the house?

Louie, look: I sorry I teased you by calling you Norbert. And Louie, your neighbors are getting fed up by your constant playing (at full volume and at all hours) Metallica's rendition of "Too Fat Polka." Yes, I know it's a rare recording, but if it keeps up they're going to call the cops, and you know what that would mean.

No, Amos, you have just woken up from an extended dream. All those things you remember about your "life" here were imaginary.

You are not who you think you are.

Your real name isn't Amos. It's Louie. Louie Troutfriend.

You are an assembly line worker at a poultry processing plant. You work day after day handling filthy, disgusting chicken carcasses that go by ceaselessly on a noisy conveyor belt. You have handled over 3 trillion of these pathetic dead chickens by now, and have also been exposed to a simply inconceivable number of bacteria and pathogens in so doing.

It was cumulative blood poisoning from all the crap in the chicken processing plant that finally caused you to become ill, lapse into a coma, and dream up your supposed existence as a pretentious wordsmith on an internet forum called Mudcat Cafe.

You are not a wordsmith. Your greatest talent is chugging 3 beers in under a minute and a half at the local bar on Friday nights and doing a ventriloquism act through your belly button with a George Bush action figure.

You have a wife who used to be in the roller derby, but she had to quit after getting pregnant and miscarrying for the 4rth time.

You have $120 in the bank and owe the bank about $13,000. Your job at the chicken processing plant has been given in your absence to an illegal immigrant named Alfonso...poor bastard! I pity him.

You and Alfonso are both shit out of luck. I suggest volunteering for something...but I'm not sure what.

Ah, Mother, it is 39F outside right now, a blue sky and white clouds. And Mom -- a week from today I'll be in Albequerque, cruising New Mexico, looking for Henry McCarty, Elfuego Baca and Geronimo (I'm trying to get a band together).

Sorry I haven't been in to give you a boost till now, MOM. It's almost spring like so I've been doing a little work around the house and yard. You can open the front door and leave the screen door locked and if you'll also open that window on the upstairs landing it will improve the indoor air quality immeasureably. It was a mistake to cook all of that chile for the guys before we could ventilate the house better.

No, I am not; while I agree with the sentiment in general, I founded the Temple with a commitment to transcend the ordinary barriers to mystic contemplation, not the scurrilous flesh-mongering of the Internet.

Moonglow was looking good last night, and the costumes she designed for the play worked well.

Rap, I sent your donkey engine to a logging museum on an old skid road in the western Cascades. They were thrilled to have it. Now my driveway looks less like something the insurance company will condemn.

That, my good man, is because Winona Ryder used to be William Shatner. The person who currently passes for Mr. Shatner is a body double (or triple, or quadruple), hired to prevent the truth from becoming known.

There is a man you'll hear about, But maybe never see. His holdings are in Idaho, And his name is Rapparee. And he carries all his money In a diamond-studded scrote. An' he was never known to care too much 'Bout claiming what others had wrote.